Кэтрин Коултер - Whiplash

Jane Ann drew in several deep controlled breaths. "He had four hundred thousand dollars?" She closed her eyes a moment. "That bastard."

"I bet he was going to run off," Mick Haggarty said from his post at the front door. "I bet he was going to leave you and your kids high and dry, Jane Ann."

"Very probably," Sherlock said, not taking her eyes off Jane Ann Royal. "Can you think of anyone else, Jane Ann? Anyone other than someone from Schiffer Hartwin who'd want him dead badly enough to invade your home?"

"I still can't accept that my own husband was a criminal. But one thing I do know for sure, he wasn't a murderer, he wasn't, Sherlock."

"Maybe not."

"All right. Let me think about this. As far as I know Caskie didn't have any personal enemies-wait, unless you count Carla Alvarez, maybe. She's very passionate, about causes, politics, business. Caskie would say she'd fly off the handle and people would scatter. Maybe she figured out he was going to dump her and she sent some men over to kill him."

"Did you speak to Caskie about her, after you spoke to me and Erin Pulaski? Did he tell you he was breaking it off with Carla?"

"No, no, it's just his pattern. Like I told you, Caskie was a cheat, but he was a very predictable cheat. He always followed the same pattern-intense flirtation, romantic little hideaway dinners, lots of sex-no one could outdo Caskie's sex talk-then no more mystery, and he was out the door. Oh, I don't know, Sherlock, I'm just talking, trying to figure this out. But Carla's tough, tougher than I am, that's for sure. Nobody gives her grief because of that hair-trigger temper of hers."

"If not Carla, then how about the manager of accounting, Turley Drexel, I think his name is?"

Jane Ann said, "I hadn't considered him. Yeah, they slept together. I remember the night it all started. It was a barbecue at one of the manager's homes in Stone Bridge. Turley was all over Carla that evening, wouldn't let her out of his sight. I thought he'd even follow her to the bathroom. I remember thinking he was probably a real loss in bed, he just gave off that vibe, you know? I couldn't imagine he'd be of any practical use to her. He didn't even look particularly nice on her arm. I decided maybe Carla was desperate.

"I think it was Caskie who took Carla away from Turley. Maybe that left him gnashing his teeth, swearing he'd make the alpha dog pay. Of course it would have been Turley who made Caskie perk up and notice Carla in the first place. And Caskie did, of course. He couldn't stand not having what another man had, particularly if the other man worked for him."

Sherlock remembered overhearing the argument between Carla Alvarez and Turley Drexel the first time she and Dillon had visited Schiffer Hartwin. Had that been about her affair with Caskie Royal?

Jane Ann suddenly whirled around and buried her face in her hands. "Forget everything I said. I'm a bitch, gold plated. I really don't know, I'm just blathering. Damn, this is so horrible, unbelievable really. Four hundred thousand dollars? I just can't believe it."

That Caskie had stolen the money, or that he wasn't going to share it? Sherlock said, "I know. It's a huge shock, the sudden violence and death, even the hidden funds. But you came through it. You'll deal with it, Jane Ann, you have to because of your sons. Your husband's body will be released for burial sometime in the next two days. I'll give you Dr. Ella Frank's phone number. You can call her."

Mick Haggarty said, "I remember now, I saw you a couple of days ago, Agent Sherlock, when I was giving Jane Ann a tennis lesson. You were with another woman."

Sherlock turned to face him. It seemed he hadn't moved since she walked in. "That's right. Is it all right if we all sit down, Mr. Haggarty?"

"Jane Ann didn't want to be alone," Mick said as he led them into the living room. He motioned Sherlock to a big easy chair, obviously his favorite place, with a fifty-inch TV six feet in front of it, the remote close by on the side table. On its very nicely polished surface, she saw the overlapping outlines of beer cans. He gave Sherlock a tentative smile as he sat down on the sofa beside Jane Ann, his feet planted apart as if he was holding his tennis racket between his legs.

"How long have you been a tennis pro, Mr. Haggarty?"

"Three years now. It's good money and I can pretty much pick my own hours. It helped pay my tuition at Belson."

"A local liberal arts college," Jane Ann said, not looking at him.

"What's your degree in?"

"I have my B.A. in film. I'm an actor, really. I did summer stock over at Belson-Shakespeare. I played Petruchio until two weeks ago. I sure hope acting in summer stock impresses everyone in Hollywood. It'd be better, of course, if I had an uncle or a parent who already knew people in Hollywood."

Jane Ann was sitting hunched over herself, her legs pressed tightly together, her hands clenched on her thighs. She shot Mick a look like, Who cares, you put z ? She looked like a woman on the edge.

She asked Sherlock, "How did you find me?"

Sherlock was afraid she was going to have to push her over that edge. "Actually, I went by your house, but of course the crime scene people were still there. Then I realized you would need comfort after last night, and I thought of Mick."

"I'm leaving later to take the train to my sister's in Philadelphia. I've got to tell the boys their father is dead. How can I do that? How?" Tears formed in her eyes, and one big one slipped down her smooth cheek. She wiped it away, swallowed, and tried to pull herself together, but another tear slid down, then another.

Sherlock looked from Jane Ann Royal to Mick Haggarty. "It will be difficult. I'm sorry." She paused a moment, then said quietly, "I hate lies, Jane Ann, particularly when I can't see the reason for them. Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with Mick?"

Jane Ann Royal jerked as she dashed her hand across her cheek. "What? What a thing to say to me the day after my husband was murdered! I didn't think you were like that-"

"Like what, Jane Ann?"

"I expected kindness from you, but you're being cruel."

"Well, fact is, I'm a federal cop and I'm investigating a particularly brutal murder." Sherlock flicked her finger toward the bedroom. "I saw a dress on the floor in the bedroom. Mick forgot to close the bedroom door before he answered my knock. Or maybe it's another woman's dress, Mick?"

Mick looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "No, no, th-there is no other woman. We're not sleeping together. Poor Jane Ann was exhausted. She came over here, all upset, and so I let her sleep in my bed. I slept on the sofa."

Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them. "Your salary, Mick, I checked. No way do you earn enough to afford this lovely apartment. You only moved in two months ago. Your former residence was far more basic than this one, on the other side of the tracks. Do you have many paying clients, or is it just Jane Ann who keeps you in comfort?"

Jane Ann Royal jumped to her feet, her face flushed, waves of anger rolling off her. "I didn't lie to you, I didn't! But it wouldn't matter if I had. I did come to Mick for comfort, so what? What business is it of yours? It had nothing to do with anything.

"Look, I didn't want to hear all the nauseating pap I'd get from my girlfriends, they're idiots. I knew Mick would understand, he wouldn't just mouth platitudes, he'd care, and that's why I came here. It's the day after my husband's death, surely not the time to screw around with another man.

"I want you to leave now, Agent Sherlock. I'm not going to sit here and let you make crazy accusations. You've done nothing to find his murderers-those two men who also tried to kill you and your husband, if you'll remember."